


The Calm in my Madness

by Bassarid



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:00:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10055771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bassarid/pseuds/Bassarid
Summary: “What's wrong, zhanym?”“Nothing. Everything.” His voiced threatened to break, and Yuri swallowed hard, why was he such a mess today?“Tell me about it?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had a bad day yesterday and why not just project it all onto fictional characters? *whispers* Emotionally unstable Yuri gives me life.

It had been a bad day, more so than usual. Everything grating, too much, his anger flaring up at every little thing.  
  
Georgi gushing about his new flame, with no amount of pretend vomiting able to deter him and the odd, glazed-over look in his eyes.  
  
Mila being her usual annoying self, teasing him, until he was yelling and threatening murder, and she was laughing, taking pictures and sending them to Sara.  
  
Yakov and Lilia, giving each other ominously bashful looks when they weren't busy criticizing his skating.  
  
Viktor and Katsudon being downright disgusting.  
  
Why did they have to be so sickly in love? Why did they have to shove it in his face? How they were oh so in love, and oh so very happy, and living oh so happily fucking in love together in St. Petersburg now, quarreling and making up over who's doing the dishes and stupid fucking shit like that, and he just couldn't bear it another second.  
  
He'd yelled something and barely even changed before going home on his own, even though Lilia would have taken him eventually. He ran most of the way, but it didn't make him less angry, less of a mess.  
  
An aching, lonely mess.  
  
Yuri threw off his clothes, letting them lie where they fell, took a shower, most of which he spent staring at the tiles in front of him without seeing them, going over how needlessly stupid the entire day had been in his mind while worrying his lower lip, barely able to feel the water running down his body.  
  
Afterwards, he put on boxers and a too large shirt that probably needed washing, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not when it still smelled the faintest bit of _him_.  
  
Yuri crawled into bed, even though it was only about eight.  
  
Around eleven in Almaty.  
  
Three hours time difference.  
  
3614km linear distance.  
  
About five hours by plane.  
  
He pulled his laptop up onto the bed and turned it on, pulling the blanket over himself and the screen. It took too long to start, too long to open Skype.  
  
Too long until he saw with elation that his single favourite was online.  
  
He knew it was needy, and clingy, but he initiated a call anyway.  
  
It only took Otabek seconds to accept, and then there he was, handsome, calm, smiling at him, though the smile faltered when he looked at Yuri.  
  
“What's wrong, zhanym?”  
  
“Nothing. Everything.” His voiced threatened to break, and Yuri swallowed hard, why was he such a mess today?  
  
“Tell me about it?”  
  
“Aw, shit. I'm sorry. I don't want to bother you.” He had never apologized to anyone but his grandfather before Beka came along.  
  
“Yura, you're not bothering me. I want to know what's wrong.”  
  
“I miss you.” Yuri closed his eyes, the tears now a serious threat. “Some days it's just worse than others. And those morons,” Otabek knew who he was referring to, Yuri never had to say, “they're just so happy and so together, and you're so far away, and I don't want to whine, I really don't.”  
  
“I'm sorry, Yura.”  
  
“It's not your fault.”  
  
Otabek was silent for a while, and Yuri looked up, to check if Skype was lagging, but Otabek was just looking at him quietly.  
  
“What can I do to make it better?” he asked eventually.  
  
“You're here talking to me now. You're already making everything so much better.”  
  
“Is that my shirt you're wearing?”  
  
“Hm.”  
  
“Have you washed it yet?”  
  
“Nah.”  
  
“You ought to.”  
  
“I know.” He rubbed the fabric over his stomach almost absentmindedly. “But it still smells like you.”  
  
Beka chuckled.  
  
“That's sweet. And a little gross.”  
  
It made Yuri laugh a little.  
  
“I can pretend you're here when I'm wearing it.”  
  
“Oh. Is that why you stole it?” Otabek's tone was teasing, and Yuri smiled slightly.  
  
“Borrowed. And yes.” He lowered his voice, even though there was no one else around to hear. “When I touch myself, I can almost make believe it's really you.”  
  
Even though the lighting on Otabek's side wasn't great, Yuri could definitely make out a slight blush.  
  
“Yuri...” He looked unsure of what to say.  
  
“I'm sorry.”  
  
“Don't be. Just taken aback by the change in subject.”  
  
“The subject is still I fucking miss you. And I miss your fucking. See what I did there?” He said it with a sigh, he knew his mood could swing in weird ways, he didn't understand it himself most of the time. “But since I have you here now, in bed with me, I don't want to mope anymore.”  
  
“Is that so?” Beka gave him a small smile, still tinted with concern. “What is it that you want, then?”  
  
They'd done this before. Of course they had. Long distance was hardly bearable any other way.  
  
“Be with me?”  
  
Otabek nodded slowly, watching him for a moment, before he said:  
  
“Take off the shirt.”  
  
Yuri obeyed, though he kept the shirt close.  
  
“Touch yourself, Yura.”  
  
He let his fingers run over his chest and stomach, a little haphazardly, rubbing his nipples, letting his nails graze his sides sharply, gasping at the sensation.

  
“You're amazing, Yura.”  
  
“Beka.”  
  
“Take off the shorts.”  
  
Yuri stripped them off at once, hissing as the waistband slid over his erection.

  
“Can you see?” he whispered, turning the laptop slightly.

  
“Yes.” Otabek drew the word out, into a hiss, low and sibilant. “Stroke yourself, zhanym. You're so beautiful, you always feel so good. Remember my hands on you, my mouth?”  
  
“Yeah.” It came out breathless, needy, while Yuri touched his cock, imagining it wasn't his own hand on the hot skin.  
  
“I want to touch you like that again, feel you, all of you. Kiss you everywhere.”  
  
“Beka...” He started pumping himself gracelessly, breathing hard.  
  
“Do you have any lube?”  
  
Yuri huffed impatiently, but reached under the pillow and smeared some lotion on his hand, before continuing; hard, fast motions, hips jerking forward.  
  
“Beka, please...”  
  
He looked at the screen, forcing himself to slow down.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You, too? I want to see you, watch you.”  
  
Otabek didn't need any more prompting. The image shook a little as Otabek changed position, kneeling on his bed, slightly further away from the camera, so Yuri could see him in his entirety. He took off the shirt he was wearing, opened his trousers, and Yuri bit his lip at the sight of his lover's cock, hard, flushed. Leaking. Otabek had a bottle of lube in hand already and was squeezing some of it into his palm.  
  
“Touch yourself,” Yuri said, and Otabek complied, eyes fluttering closed, but opening again almost at once, to look at him, or at least at the Yuri he could see, the simulacrum, there and not there. He pushed the thought aside and instead started pumping his cock again, eyes on Otabek, on the hand around Otabek's cock, wishing it was his. Yuri was rocking his hips forwards and back, hard and fast, breath rapid, until he came with a low cry, spilling all over his hand and the sheets.  
  
He'd closed his eyes only briefly, opening them again to watch Beka, who was still pumping himself, faster now, too.  
  
“Beka. You look so good. Did you watch me come? It's all because of you, you make me come undone, please, come for me.”  
  
He could hear the moan in spite of the lousy microphone, and watched wide-eyed as Beka came, head thrown back, coating his fingers and stomach. It was the hottest, most beautiful sight Yuri had ever seen.  
  
“You drive me insane. In a good way,” he said, once Beka had moved back closer to the camera. “Or maybe the opposite. I can't decide. Maybe you keep me sane.” He was babbling, he knew, but the feelings were welling up inside him, light and joyful.  “I love you. Do you know that? Have I told you often enough? Thank you.”  
  
“And I love you, zhanym. I'm not sure I could possibly get enough of you saying so. My Yura. I wish I could hold you close.”  
  
Yuri sighed.  
  
“Me too.”  
  
“Are you feeling a little better now?”  
  
Yuri nodded.  
  
“Much better.” He looked at the time. “Do you need to sleep? Have I kept you up?”  
  
“Even if you did, I don't mind. Not at all.”  
  
Yuri gave him a smile, and Otabek smiled back at him.  
  
“You have the most beautiful smile, Yura.”  
  
“Go to bed, you sap.” Yuri laughed.  
  
“Take care. I love you. Good night.”  
  
“Love you, too. Good night, Beka.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you find a typo, it most certainly was one of the cats walking across the keyboard. They do that. A lot. There is cat hair on the screen as I'm writing this.
> 
> It's definitely not because nothing I write is ever beta'd.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://down-to-figure-skate.tumblr.com). Come say hello. Prompts always welcome.


End file.
